Yeah, I’m mature.
P.S. This took me way too long to finish, sorry!
“Hey, dude. Long time no see!”
“Yeah, for real! Hey, you got so fat!”
No precursor, no buildup, nothing. People will just tell you because it is a completely normal thing to say after they haven’t seen you for a while. So I’ve gotten used to it. I’m not really on the receiving end of it too much, but I occasionally get it from my girlfriend, who just loves to look at the rolls my stomach makes when I’m bend over, and then she rubs them.
I don’t think I have to tell you that this is NOT acceptable behavior in the U.S., or for that matter, most of the English speaking world. You don’t walk up to your friend who gained 5 pounds over the summer to tell them that you can see their love handles now. You don’t even go up to your super fat friend who used to be skinny and tell them they’ve gotten blimp sized and they should chill the fuck out with the food. Hell, People sue their doctors for telling them that they are fat and need to go on a diet or die from diabetes.
So when I went home for a couple of weeks for Christmas, being called a fat ass was the last thing I was expecting. Boy, was I wrong. I get home and one of the first things my mother says to me is, “Aww, you got a little belly don’t’cha!”. Oh, thanks mom. Something was amiss, usually they tell me how great I look. Whatever, I’ll take it, she is my mother after all. She gets some leeway since she loves me and just wants me to be healthy and all that junk. But then my sister says it. Fuck you. And then I meet up with a friend, he says it. Dude! Another friend, she says it. And then another, and another. THey all say it. What ever happened to not being a dick? You know, I was never too concerned with my weight, but going to a place with awesome social blocks placed against straight up calling people fat, and being bombarded with how big my belly got… you got to wonder… have I gotten fat? Am I a lard ball?
Ok, I do have to admit I have gone through a one month period where my body fat was bursting out from under my clothes (I want to delete those photos so bad), but its not THAT bad. It’s just a belly! Even my Japanese friends haven’t said anything… and they love calling people fat! What’s up people?!
Besides all rational thought, however, I have decided to cut down on my eating habits. So basically, fuck you guys. I’m fucking fat now, happy?!
Have a great day,
The world is full of disgusting and awful things. Turn on the TV for a few seconds and you’ll see what I mean. I live in a relatively safe part of the world. I don’t have to deal with war, and murder. I don’t have to go out on the streets and sell blowjobs to buy crack, because I am so addicted to crack. Don’t gotta decide between killing a baby for a roll of bread. I was lucky to be raised in a middle class family. I don’t have to witness terrible things. I don’t have to decide between to impossibly evil things to survive. I was safe, right? Wrong. I did something terrible the other day… I destroyed something, something beautiful. It was a gift to the world really, a beacon of light just brought into the world. It had its whole life ahead of it. My girlfriend gave it to me as a christmas present. It was a beautiful white undershirt. It’s dead now, thanks to me… and all I could do is laugh hysterically as my girlfriend kicked me.
Lack of sleep can do amazing things to the body. I hadn’t really figured this out until recently, when I had come back from my parents house in the states to Japan. My lovely girlfriend picked me up at the airport and elected to keep me awake until a decent sleeping hour so I could get over jet lag a little easier. Oh, how nice of her! When we got to my place we exchanged Christmas gifts since I had been away for a while. She got me exactly what I wanted, two very white, beautiful, fresh undershirts to replace the two I had been wearing every day for six months without washing. She wanted me to take off that shirt, I also noticed the smell and was willing to part with it…our dating world was in alignment. I tried it on immediately for my fruitful and hopefully very long relationship with this white wonder. Fit perfectly, smelled great, all was right.
It was getting later in the evening, and it was getting time for dinner. Just before this my girlfriend had woke my desperate for sleep body up from an ill-advised nap that left me in a battle between the dream world and reality. Basically, I was a mess. My girlfriend, being the sweet Japanese spy that she is, sees how deliriously tired I am and says she will go out and pick up some food for us. Hurray! Not only did she do that, she also buys us ice cream! Double hurray!
I scarf down the delicious convenience store food and soon have my eyes on the ice cream bar she had bought me. Boy, did it look good. A hard chocolate center, covered in chocolate ice cream, covered by a hard candy shell. What more could you ask for? Triple chocolate explosion. I don’t remember anything about the actual eating of the chocolate bar. All I know is that I killed it. In a haze, much like a rabid raccoon, I absorbed the chocolate bar, not taking any care to my surroundings. I was blacked out for approximately one minute and thirty-seven seconds.
I came to. My girlfriend was standing over me in shock. She was looking at something. Not at my face…she was looking lower. Around my chest. I look down. This is what I see.
Yes, in a tired haze, while unconsciously enjoying delicious ice cream, I also managed to destroyed the beautiful new white undershirt that my girlfriend got me for Christmas. I looked at her, and the shirt, then back and her, and couldn’t stop laughing. Not a normal laugh, but the laugh of an insane sleep-deprived carny.
What a waste of life. That shirt can now never fulfill it’s purpose on this earth because of me. I basically killed a fetus. Don’t hate me. My girlfriend certainly does. At least it smells good.
Here’s to a better future for the world, where these things no longer happen.
Most people eventually garner some sort of interest in their parents past、although they aren’t always willing to reveal it willingly. Hell, some people literally have to point a gun to their folk’s heads just to get anything out of them. My dad just happens to be one of those people. It took a good 24 years, but I finally thought I had a general idea of what my dad accomplished in his life. I was satisfied. I didn’t think I had to fish anymore. Little did I know that when I came home for Christmas, I would find out a family secret hidden from us children. Let me be the first to say, it was probably for the better.
If you have read this blog in the past, you may know that I’ve had some interesting sexual experiences in my life. Some completely volunteered, some forced down upon me. Well, it appears that this isn’t just something that I’ve been lucky (unlucky?) enough to experience…this shit runs in the family. We are porn people. A simple bunch, really…but inextricably locked to the world of porn. Why? Listen to this.
So I was wondering aimlessly around my house, mindin’ my own business when I found myself in my parent’s room. My dad, as usual, was relaxing in his chair, simultaneously writing furiously, and switching between watching the oldest movies in existence, and a local horse racing channel. On my parents dresser, I noticed a book. Not a particularly strange sight, as we have a thousand books in places all over the house, but I picked it up and looked at it absent-mindedly anyway.
The book was called ‘Isle of Lust’ by Levi Sanford. On the cover was a woman facing away, hugging a man, and wearing a dress that gave us a very detailed look at her rear end. The tagline was: “With sultry sirens in the sun, every day is SIN-day”. This book was old too, the pages had turned that ting of orange like all books over 30 years old did. The price was proudly displayed right next to the title, 60 cents. “What is this shit?” I wondered, knowing that this wasn’t exactly the kind of books my parents read. “Hey, Dad? What is this smut book doing on your dresser?” I asked. “Oh, yeah…I wrote that.” He responded, quite nonchalantly. “You wrote it? But who’s Levi Sanford?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s my pen name; I had a lot of back then. Wrote a bunch of soft-core smut novels.” An intense feeling of joy filled up my heart. All I could think after that was, “I am so reading this”.
After some pushing, I find out that my dad, looking for work writing after college, did freelance for this smut publishing firm. He could write anything he wanted with one condition, there had to have a sex scene every ten pages. Only ten!? Don’t worry, my dad assured me there was no penetration.
So how did my dad do? Here’s one of the many gems from Isle of Lust by Levi Sanford:
A cold shiver of dread and excitement swept over him and he found her lips. They were soft and wet and half-parted allowing his darting tongue to enter. Their teeth clicked as the soft crushing kiss turned into a thousand tiny bites till her could taste the sweetness of blood. Her body writhed in sensuous rhythm as she guided his hand to secret, sensitive spots, urging him to probe and dig, uttering short commands.
He could see her lips moving as though she were praying, but it wasn’t prayers that he heard. She was mouthing all sorts of foul obscenities as his hands and his body twisted and pressed her soft flesh.
I don’t know about you, but I already have a boner.
Oh, so you think Isle of Lust looks great? Check out some of these other titles by none other than my old man.
The Moonlighters by Gil Herbert: The shocking story of a small factory town that gave birth to a call-girl ring made up of the wives of the night-shift workers!!!
Ginny by Gil Herbert: An office girl with intentions…intentions less than honorable!
The Sin Travelers by Don Holliday: They wanted kicks… and they didn’t care how they got them!
If you want to get your hands on some of these vintage classics, head over to this great website, vintagesleaze.com, for all of your vintage sleaze needs! Yes, this is a real site, and yes, there are people who collect and sell this shit to people who think today’s smut isn’t enough… they need the granny smut.
So yes, it’s no wonder that my life has been lined with all the naughty and gross things in the world. It is in my DNA. We are porn people and I won’t deny it any longer! Why don’t you try asking your parents about their past? You may find out you’re a porn person too!
Have a great one!